


What if?

by VigilanteFlower



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Pole Dancing, Takes place a week after the banquet that is shown in episode 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilanteFlower/pseuds/VigilanteFlower
Summary: As Viktor shuffles through pictures of the Grand Prix Banquet on his phone, a fantasy of how the night could have played out differently comes to mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This came about from a point I made on tumblr about Viktor having kept the stripping pictures all year. :) http://vigilanteflower.tumblr.com/post/154190887366/for-an-entire-year-yuri-has-been-completely
> 
> I also do prompts~  
> http://vigilanteflower.tumblr.com/ask

Viktor dropped his bag on the floor with a soft thunk as he stepped into his home. A hand braced his weight on the wall as the other worked at the strings of his shoes before a well placed toe at the back pried each one off of a socked foot. Makkachin was already sniffing around his shoes and excitedly bouncing on his front paws, struggling to stay a good dog and not jump on Viktor. The legendary skater dropped to one knee and scratched at his beloved dog’s ears with a soft smile before standing and heading over to the couch.

 

He felt like he was on autopilot as he sat down and slipped out of his jacket. Ever since the Grand Prix banquet a week ago, he’d been having such a hard time focusing. Sure, practice was going fine, but Yakov was getting aggravated with him. His performances were distracted, and apparently Yakov knew him well enough to notice. He was a good coach.

 

Of course, when Yakov tried to drag it out of him, all Viktor did was smile and tell him he was fine and focused. What else could he say? Certainly not what was plaguing him.

 

He couldn’t tell Yakov that a gorgeous, drunken Japanese figure skater had begged him to be his coach after the Grand Prix, and that he was genuinely considering doing it. Yakov would be furious, and Viktor would prefer not to be around for the backlash or the lectures that might come from it. 

 

There was a bit more to what had happened than just a request though. It wasn’t the first time Viktor’s practices had become distracted, or more accurately, dispassionate. Before the Grand Prix, Yakov’s lectures and prying had been similar, though maybe a little less concerned. He was starting to feel quite low, depressed was probably too strong a word, but certainly not in full spirits or as invested as he used to be. 

 

It came down to the fact that winning had become mundane, expected, and always attainable. While some would beg to have such a problem, it wasn’t really in Viktor’s nature to enjoy comfortable stagnation, even if it was beneficial to his career and pocketbook. He needed something to rejuvenate him, and not a vacation, it wasn’t that kind of recharging he needed. No, he wanted his excitement and love of skating to be rekindled.

 

He genuinely had not expected months of self propelled debate to be answered by an adorable young man with an unexpected talent for pole dancing and an apparent lack of shame and sensibility when drunk. But, when Yuri Katsuki looked up at him and asked Viktor to be his coach, it was all Viktor could do to keep himself from saying yes, then and there. Admittedly, he’d had a few drinks himself, but not nearly as much as the younger figure skater. 

 

Viktor pulled out his phone with his free hand while the other kept petting Makkachin’s head on the cushion beside him. He tapped it several times until he was in a folder full of pictures from the banquet. He’d gone through and deleted a fair number that either were no good or held no significant interest to him after that night, but there was still a large bundle in the folder. Almost all of them contained Yuri.  
Viktor knew the Japanese skater was in the competition and that he’d done fairly well before the Grand Prix, but for some reason the poor man had flubbed half his jumps. It made Viktor curious about why, but maybe he’d get to ask him some day. Sadly, he hadn’t thought to get Yuri’s number in all the excitement.

 

He began scrolling through them for the dozenth time and bit his lip as he came to a shot of Yuri on the pole, still partially dressed. He flipped through a few more and came to a stop on one where he seemed to be jumping, his leg muscles toned and the shadows cast over them in such a pleasantly defining way. A thought crossed Viktor’s mind. What would it be like to have those well toned thighs wrapped around his shoulders? His hips, even?

 

As he looked to another picture, his mind replaced the nearly naked form of his friend, with himself. What if instead of Chris, it had been him suspended off the ground by Yuri’s strong arms and legs? What if he’d been looking up at the sultry, tempting expression of the younger man, rather than smiling for the camera like Chris had?

 

The fantasy started to form more solidly in his head. Yuri in just his underwear and that ugly tie, hand gripping Viktor’s arm as he helped him to stretch and spin around the pole elegantly. Their bodies twining together, breathing heavy, tension growing as the scene became less about drunken fun and more about just the two of them and everywhere they were touching. There’s no crowd in Viktor’s head anymore, and he completely ignores the fact that he hasn’t pole danced for more than a few hours in his life. This is what fantasies are for, ignoring how much he’d fall flat on his face and cling shakily to the metal as Yuri coaxed him into confidence while supporting him.

 

Viktor cleared his throat as he snapped back to the real world for a moment and glanced down at Makkachin, who had fallen asleep mid petting. Slowly, Viktor got up from the seat and smiled as his dog rolled onto it’s back and continued to sleep lazily. He walked into his bedroom and closed the door, just in case Makkachin woke up while he was busy. A few moments later his shirt was in the laundry basket and his belt was hanging open as he slid the zipper of his pants down. Viktor left it at that before settling against the pillows at the head of his bed and pulling the pictures back up on his phone. Where had he left off? Oh yeah.

 

Yuri’s hands were strong and held him much like in pairs skating as Viktor wrapped his legs around the other man’s hips and slowly arched back to meet the eyes of the non existent crowd. The position was really more so he could imagine what it would be like to feel his growing erection pressed against his partner’s abs, with half the weight of his body behind it. 

 

Viktor’s hand slid into his seamless black underwear and cupped the erection that had formed in reality. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly moral to fantasize about a fellow competitor in such a way, but it was his head and his bedroom and no one ever needed to know.

 

In the fantasy, Yuri pulled him back up and Viktor gripped the pole with one arm wrapped around Yuri’s shoulders. They were so wonderfully close, Yuri’s mouth breathing hotly against his skin, both their eyes flicking up and down asking for silent permission. Yuri’s cheeks were flushed more due to arousal than alcohol at that point, which Viktor knew very well as he felt evidence of it pressed against his perineum. 

 

Viktor reach a little further down between his legs to press against it himself, eliciting a slight groan as he scooted further down into the comfort of his bed. 

 

At this point, Yuri guided his feet to the ground and slipped behind him, Viktor’s body flush against the pole and his arms stretched high up to grasp it. Wide spread fingers gripped his waist just as tightly, and there was a momentary realization in Viktor’s head that he’d made Yuri a bit too tall, so he fixed that.

 

Soft lips kissed the nape of his neck, then where neck met shoulder, and finally a groan left him as Yuri bit down on the taut muscle.

 

Viktor’s hand was moving fluidly on his own cock as he pictured more and more of how the night could have played out in a very different setting. 

 

The fantasy version of his competitive counterpart began grinding against him, thick and heavy need quite evident from the hot breath against his ear that matched the cock against his ass. Viktor slid his hands down the pole as he stepped back and pressed himself into the other man’s hips. Yuri stepped back and Viktor pictured him smiling at the blatant invitation as the legend offered himself up fully at a right angle to the pole. 

 

The underwear were gone now and of course he didn’t need to be prepped in a fantasy, he imagined himself perfectly ready as Yuri teased his ass and leaned over, whispering a charming, “Viktor, please be my coach?” before slipping into him wonderfully slow. 

 

As Viktor sat on his bed in reality, he’d cupped his balls with one hand and was panting quietly as he stared at the ceiling, picturing every feeling the scenario would bring. 

 

The fantasy of Yuri wasted no time in slamming into him, because Viktor could take it. He wanted it just like this. Clinging to the cold steel, cheek flush against the smooth surface as it rubbed back and forth from the force of his new lover’s thrusts. He started begging Yuri for more, though he hadn’t fully figured out what he’d say. Whatever it was, Yuri loved it, and fulfilled every request immediately. 

 

Viktor’s teeth closed almost painfully over his bottom lip as he moaned and arched a bit against the bed, hand moving furiously over the length of his swollen, dripping cock as he hurried the fantasy along. Just as Viktor was about to reach his true orgasm, he pictured the soft, sweat covered skin of Yuri Katsuki slapping against his own and an unexpected edit of the earlier request slipped past his panting lips, “Please be mine, Viktor?”

 

Viktor came along with his fantasy self, as well as his imaginary Yuri. Thick strands of come painted Viktor’s abs, paired with a longer and louder groan than any before it. He watched his own cock twitch and drip the last of it’s contents onto his stomach as he dragged his fist up to the tip. This was such an indulgence, he knew that, but he desperately wanted to know what expression Yuri would have as he looked up from his spent prick. 

 

A heavy sigh left the talented skater as he leaned over and plucked a few tissues from the bedside table to clean himself up. He glanced down at his phone, which he had dropped beside himself at some point in the whole endeavour. He really regretted not getting the younger man’s phone number, but figure skating at this level was a fairly small world. Then again, it was rather presumptuous of him to think that a man that drunk was completely serious about such a serious interest in him. He hoped it was true though, because that night had been the first time he’d felt that alive in a decade. 

 

He’d think about it some more, but a part of him considered the possibility that the idea would float away and he’d never see Yuri again. Whatever happened, he really hoped he was right to assume Yuri wasn’t straight. He was also going to need to get his fantasies in check, or risk not being able to look Yuri in the eye next time they met.


End file.
